Flying High
by rubyshards
Summary: SeiferxSquall. Pregame. Seifer and Squall think about what it would be like to fly. For the theme 'wings.'


"One of these days, I'm gonna have wings, and when I do, I'll fly all around the world and no one will be able to stop me."

Squall snorts, wiggles in his place and smacks Seifer on the back, because he knows that Seifer is about to go off into one of his rants again. One of those "I'm gonna be king of the world" rants that he comes up with, pulls out of nowhere and spouts off like he's a human book or something.

"Yeah? How are you gonna do that? People can't grow wings, Seifer."

Seifer laughs, but he's really pouting beneath that chuckle. Of course people can grow wings – Squall must have been asleep when he showed him that book last night.

"Sure they can! Didn't ya pay attention to any of those paintings and pictures that Matron's got?"

Yeah, he's looked, and he tells Seifer that, but that doesn't mean that people can really get wings on their own, because those are just paintings and that's it. There's absolutely nothing real about them.

"'Course they're real, Squally. Why else would people draw 'em?"

"I dunno." And he doesn't, and it makes him mad that he doesn't have a reason, so he smacks Seifer again, just because it makes him feel better about it. Seifer doesn't even seem to care that Squall is hitting him, though, and that just adds to the smaller boy's frustration. He folds his arms over his chest in irritation, and decides that he's not gonna answer Seifer, because it'll just satisfy him more that he's actually won this conversation.

"Exactly. If people are gonna draw 'em, then that means they gotta be real."

Squall sighs, leans back against Seifer and tilts his head up toward the sky, squinting against the setting sun that's shining too bright in his eyes. He secretly thinks that flying wouldn't be all that bad, because then they could leave the orphanage before Seifer has to head off to that military academy next spring, but he knows that it's not gonna happen.

He doesn't mind dreaming about it, though.

"I don't know, Seifer. How would you get wings? Magic?"

Seifer laughs at him, gentle and yet full of that confidence that swells his pride so often, and Squall rolls his eyes up toward the pastel-splashed sky, because he knows that Seifer's speech is just going to get worse from this point on.

"I don't need magic to get wings, Squally. I'll get 'em on my own, and when I do, I'll laugh at you, because you said I couldn't do it and I'll have proved you wrong." He leans his head back against Squall's shoulder, keeps their backs together, and Squall sighs a little under the weight, but he doesn't push Seifer off. "Didn't ya ever think about that? That if a person tries hard enough, then they get wings of their own, so they don't hafta keep dreaming for the wings of someone else."

"You read that somewhere." He knows that Seifer may be intelligent sometimes, but not _that _intelligent, and it's obvious that he's just reciting some line from some book that he borrowed from Matron's little salt-stained bookshelf.

"Yeah, I did. But it sounded pretty cool, ya gotta admit."

Squall nods.

Maybe Seifer really does have a point. Maybe a person really can grow wings if they wish for it enough, imagine it enough, and Squall thinks that Seifer would look pretty good with wings. He has the hair, for one thing – he's never seen a winged person with brown hair before, and that makes him a little upset, but not really, because he doesn't think he'd look nearly as cool with wings as Seifer would. Most of the time, the paintings have bright blonde hair, like a golden crown or something, and Squall can picture Seifer like that almost perfectly.

A part of him hopes that Seifer really does get wings, if only so he can see it in real life, see what the gold would look like up close and not with the dull, muted colors of some deceased mastermind's artwork.

"I'm gonna get wings, just you watch, Squally." Seifer holds a hand up to the sky and imagines what it'd be like to feel the wind kissing his face and brushing through his hair up that high. It's a nice sensation, he would think, and he'd love to feel it at least once. "And if you're real nice to me, I might just give ya a ride. But you'll have to ask really polite – maybe even beg."

But it'd only be worth it if he can bring Squall along too, because then he could prove to him that people really can grow wings on their own, without magic or anything like that to help.

"Whatever, Seifer."

Squall pushes off of Seifer's back and climbs to his feet, dusting off his torn blue jeans with a wipe of his small hands. He turns around, looks down at Seifer's distant face, tilted up toward the sky and staring off at something that only he can see, and Squall feels a little sorry when he jolts Seifer out of that pleased daze he is in.

"We gotta head in. Matron is gonna be mad if we stay out too late again."

Seifer doesn't answer right away, too fixated in his own thoughts, before he looks up at Squall, taking the hand that had been offered to him and letting Squall use all of his weight to pull him to his feet. He casts a longing glance backward, over his shoulder and out across the ocean to someplace far away, somewhere only he can see, and Squall lets Seifer travel, because he knows what it's like, and a part of him wants to go, too. Wants to go somewhere else but here.

"I will, you know."

Squall grins, just a little bit, as Seifer keeps their hands locked together, tugging on Squall's arm to drag him along at his side, like they always walk when no one else is around to see them. Squall doesn't really mind Seifer's hand in his this time. The warm palm, larger than his own, heats up his chilled fingertips, and he moves a fraction of an inch closer to Seifer as they climb up the beach, their old tennis shoes sinking into the glittering, moist sand as they walk.

"Yeah, I know."


End file.
